


I Hate and I Love

by Greenie (hidetheteaspoons)



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith, Strike (TV 2017)
Genre: A different kind of stair hug, F/M, Fluff, I probably got some details wrong, Idiots in Love, Loosely based on canon events, Mutual Pining, Post COE pub scene rewrite, Strike reads poetry, Unexpected Cuddling, Wet!Robin, all the feels, drunk!Robin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-14 10:48:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29044857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hidetheteaspoons/pseuds/Greenie
Summary: After her confession at the pub, Strike insists that Robin stay the night at his flat, where both muse over their relationship and unspoken feelings toward each other. Poetry reading, shower thoughts, and hugs included.
Relationships: Robin Ellacott & Cormoran Strike, Robin Ellacott/Cormoran Strike
Comments: 9
Kudos: 71





	I Hate and I Love

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all! I've had this lingering on my Google Drive for quite a while as part of a larger work, but some unexpected inspiration led me to post it as a one-shot instead. It's an alternate ending loosely based on the scene where Robin tells Strike about her attack and that Matthew has cheated on her. Title is from Catullus 85. Enjoy!

His heart ached for her. She’d been through hell and back at such a young age. She’d found the man who was supposed to be her partner in everything, and he had treated her like shit. Matthew had cheated on her during one of the worst times of her life and there was nothing Strike could do or say to help her. 

A thought flitted briefly through his mind before he pushed it away as quickly as it appeared. He wished it had been him. He wished he could have been there for her. He would have been so much better for her than Matthew ever was, though it would have been completely impossible. However impossible it might have been, Strike felt an unexplained pull toward her, a magnetic desire to protect her at all costs. This was probably the only time in his life that Cormoran wished he was still in the SIB. He’d have used his connections to make the bastard that attacked her pay dearly. If he could take away any of the hurt she’d had in her younger years, he would in a heartbeat. He’d take all her hurt and endure it in his remaining years if it meant she never had to suffer the shit hand that life had dealt her.

He took in a deep breath and started to speak, before she interrupted, her face already stained with tears in the low light of the pub. 

“‘S okay,” she sniveled, “You don’t have to say anything. Not exactly social conversation, is it?”

“No…” he started. “That’s...that’s not what I was going to say.”

He just barely heard a small “Oh” escape her lips. 

“Thank you for telling me. I’m glad you felt safe enough to do so. You didn’t owe me an explanation and you could have easily told me to ‘Sod off’, but you didn’t. You trusted me. For that, I think you are strong and brave.” 

For the first time, Strike wanted nothing more than to hold her close to him. The carefully drawn line between them had been broken when she removed her engagement ring. For Cormoran, that was his guide - this far, and no further. Now, there was no guide; they were in uncharted waters. Robin’s head dropped to her hands as she bit back a sob. He intuitively reached for her hand, then pulled it away just as quickly as it was offered, before she could see what he’d done. 

She lifted her head once more, eyes red and glassy, cheeks flushed, and hair a mess. She was drunk - too drunk to go home and Cormoran worried for her safety if she were to return to Matthew.

“Where are you staying tonight?” he found himself asking, before he even realized it.

“I...I don’t know. I hadn’t thought about it,” she sniffed.

“I don’t think you should go home to him.”

She looked surprised, though nodded her head. “You’re right. There’s nothing left for me there. I just...I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

“Stay with me,” Strike blurted, rather impulsively. “I mean…at mine. If you want. You can sleep wherever you’re comfortable. If you need your space, you can take the flat.”

“Cormoran - I couldn’t put you out of your own bed! That’s bloody ridiculous.”

“Well I…” he trailed off. If he was completely honest, the thought that Robin might sleep in his bed hadn’t even crossed his mind. 

“‘S alright, I don’t mind,” he told her. In reality, what he’d wanted to say was, _‘I’d sleep anywhere if it meant that you were away from him.’_

Finally, Robin stood from her seat, and stretched and started to wobble slightly toward the bar to pay for her drinks. Cormoran placed a hand on her arm and pulled her back to him. Her face was just inches away from his, and she was staring hard at him. “Allow me, please.”

He didn’t wait for an answer. Pulling out his wallet, he headed to the bar and settled Robin’s tab. Upon his return, he offered her an arm so she could remain steady. After exiting the pub, the pair observed the pouring rain that had descended upon London. Luckily for Robin, she was prepared. Robin pulled a small umbrella from her purse and handed it to Strike. “‘M not sure ‘m coordinated enough for that right now. Walking in the rain’s going to be bloody hard enough.”

“Just hold on, alright?” he told her. It was a brisk, wet walk from the pub to the tube, which took them back to Denmark Street. Upon exiting the tube station, Strike held the small umbrella above their heads the best he could, which proved to be a challenge given his height and width. He held it over Robin as much as he could, but was soaked in the process. 

Upon arriving at the beat-up metal door of their building, Strike handed the umbrella to a slightly tilting Robin and fished his keys out of his pocket. Wrenching the key into the lock, he pressed his weight against the door that tended to stick in rainy weather. Robin followed close behind, grasping the doorway in an effort to keep her balance. She dropped the umbrella to the floor and left it on the landing to dry. Closing the door, Strike gestured toward the stairs, indicating that he would follow behind her. He wanted to make sure he could catch her, were she to tilt backward at all. 

Robin trudged slowly up the stairs, her feet dragging, and her hand grasping the rail. Strike was thankful for the slower pace so that he could keep up with her. Upon reaching the second floor landing, she paused, swaying slightly, and turned to look at Strike.

“Next floor,” he muttered, urging her to continue.

“No, I can sleep in here,” she affirmed. “Still got th’ camp bed?”

“Yes, but you’re not sleeping in here. If you’re sleeping alone, you’re going to do it in my bed.”

Robin froze, not only at the commanding tone of his voice, but also at the implication of his words. Strike too paused, not daring to make eye contact with her. 

“Okay,” Robin said quietly. Without another word, she continued up the steps toward Strike’s flat. 

When the pair reached the top of the stairs, which were already quite narrow, Cormoran sidled up to Robin. He gently placed a hand on her shoulder to signal that he was coming near her, and she moved to the side. As he passed, she took a deep breath and inhaled the smell of him. A mix of smoke and pine and sweat that was not at all unpleasant. The moment passed just as quickly as it happened, but Robin was struck with the sudden urge to collapse into his bed, if it too smelled this wonderful. 

Strike opened the door and ushered her in, closing it behind them. “Make yourself comfortable,” he told her, as he rid himself of his coat and flung it over a nearby chair. “Cuppa?” he added, not waiting for her answer. He put on the kettle anyway and took two chipped mugs from a kitchen cabinet. 

She nodded mutely, also removing her coat and leaving her handbag on a chair. She fell into Strike’s large chair and leaned forward, her head in her hands. Strike saw her out of the corner of his eye, but remained in the kitchen to tend to the kettle. Upon creating two perfect cups of tea, he crossed the room and placed one of the mugs in her hand. 

"Thanks,” she muttered, trying and failing to hide the fact that she was crying again. The tea was a welcome distraction and she hoped, if anything, that it would help her relax. 

Strike leaned against a chair, watching her as she sipped her tea. She looked up at him, eyes gazing in return. “I don’t know what I’m going to do…” she murmured.

“You don’t have to decide anything tonight,” Cormoran reminded her. 

“I know, but I do have to decide soon.”

“Hypothetically, what would you be deciding between?” He asked, curiously. 

“I suppose whether to leave and if so, where I’d go if I did. Or…”

“Or…?” Strike probed. 

“Or if I should forgive and forget it and move on.” 

Strike had quite a few opinions about that final option, but for his and Robin's sakes, he kept his mouth closed and replied with a neutral, “I see.”

Robin drained the rest of her tea before standing up to stretch and use the loo. “I’ll just,” she gestured, “ pointing to the small room off the main living area.

Strike nodded in understanding. “Going out for a smoke,” he lied. “Do y’ need anything?”

“Shower, I think,” she responded, “I need to wipe this day off of me.” 

“That’s fair. Towels are in the closet there,” he pointed. There's a gown on the back of the door if you need something to put on.”

“That should work fine, thank you,” Robin told him. 

As the door clicked shut, all Robin could think about was being wrapped up in the clothes that Strike wore, that smelled like him. Post-shower him. Would they smell piney and lemony or soft and flowery? Robin chided herself only briefly for her thoughts, before she remembered that her partner of nearly ten years had cheated on her in one of the most desperate times of her life.

She stripped down and started the water, waiting for it to warm. She looked down at her third finger, which like the rest of her, was bare and empty. Yet, similarly, felt freeing. She sighed and stepped into the shower when steam started to pour out above the curtain. The hot water ran over her skin and she never wanted to leave.

Meanwhile, downstairs in the office, Strike had set up his camp bed and cracked open a Doom Bar. He collapsed in his office chair and leaned back, consciously aware of the fact that his work partner was very, _very_ naked only a floor above him. He took multiple swigs of his beer and tried not to think about the bad memories that were associated with the camp bed - the rows he’d had with Charlotte, the boxes that he lived out of for weeks on end, and the first time he and Robin had met, when she’d very clearly seen his bags on the floor and knew what exactly what was going on. _Clever girl._ More importantly, she’d never said anything to him about the boxes, or about his living situations. 

_Clever, thoughtful girl._

_His clever Robin._

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No. Not his. Not now. Not yet. Not ever? A hollow ache filled Strike’s heart as he imagined the possibility of Robin returning to her twat of a fiancé. It was no secret that women had a tendency to return to their abusers. It wasn’t a sexist fact, but one that he learned after many years in SIB, investigating cases where his fellow officers had abused their wives, girlfriends, or children. The families often covered for their husband, boyfriend, or father. He’d seen it in the eyes of countless women; how badly they wanted to leave, but for one reason or another, were too afraid to. He didn’t blame them at all. In fact, he himself had returned over and over to his tormentor. Charlotte had been his abuser and it had taken him sixteen years and a fake baby for him to leave for good. 

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__He closed his eyes and shook his head at the memory of nearly being knocked out by an flying ashtray, of Charlotte hurling curses and insults at him, and admittedly, him hurling them back at her as she turned and left, slamming the door shut behind her. It’d taken only seconds for him to chase after her. Then he literally ran into his angel, his saving grace, the woman who now occupied his shower and had occupied his heart since the very first day._ _

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__Caring for Robin had started as a silent thing, especially over their first few months together. As they spent more time together, it progressed into a dull roar in the back of Cormoran’s mind. At times, he felt like he could hear her voice, feel her presence, even when she wasn’t in the office. He found himself thinking of her as he drifted to sleep, even if he wasn’t in a bed alone. Thoughts of her slowly permeated his mind regularly, but he did his best to quell them. But now…_ _

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__Now caring for her was loud and ever-present. He spent most waking moments with her and when he wasn’t with her, he was thinking of her. When he wasn’t thinking of her, he was dreaming of her._ _

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__He was brought back to his reality by the sound of the pipes creaking and the shower cutting off upstairs. He needed to return eventually to get a pillow and blankets. For now, he slung back what remained of his beer and tossed the bottle into the trash. After giving Robin a significant amount of time to finish in the bathroom, he started up the stairs, making his presence known so he wouldn’t startle her._ _

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__When he opened the door to the flat, he paused. His jaw dropped slightly. There on his couch sat the most beautiful sight he’d seen in years. Robin was leaning back in his chair reading a book with her legs tucked up beneath her and his dark blue dressing down wrapped tightly around her. Her hair was wet and loose around her face, which was free of makeup and flushed pink from her scalding hot shower. She looked utterly soft and kissable and Strike wanted nothing more at that very moment than to whisk her off to his bed. An impossibility._ _

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__She saw him looking at her and smiled, her cheeks coloring even more. “Sorry it’s a bit warm,” she told him, looking up from her book._ _

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__“No, it’s good,” he responded, his brain still slightly fuzzy from seeing her in his clothes, not at all wondering what she wore beneath. “It’s cold out,” he said stupidly._ _

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__She laughed slightly, closing the book, and held it up for him to see. “Catullus. Hope it’s alright, I just wanted something to pass the time that didn’t involve my phone.”_ _

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__“Can you read Latin?” Strike asked, curiously._ _

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__“Bits and pieces,” she replied. “Took an intro course at uni. I can’t make complete sense of it though.”_ _

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__“Would you like me to read it to you?”_ _

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__“Er...you’d want to do that?”_ _

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__“Sure, why not? He asked._ _

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__“Okay,” she smiled. “Okay if I lay down?”_ _

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__He nodded and smiled at her comfort. It would be the first time he had a woman in his bed in this flat for any reason. He was happy it was her._ _

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__“You’re sure you don’t mind?” she hesitated._ _

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__He shook his head and gestured toward the bed. “I meant what I said. I’ll give you your space.”_ _

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__“I’m alright, really. I’d rather not be alone for a little.”_ _

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__His heart nearly cracked in two as she said this. “Well then, I’ll let you get settled.”_ _

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__She crawled under the warm, red floral duvet cover that was the last color she expected his bedding to be, but was no less comfortable. She was even more ensconced in his smell and now, was ready to be soothed by his voice._ _

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__Once she was comfortable, Strike pulled the chair over to her and settled into it. “How should I read it? Latin or English?”_ _

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__“Both,” she murmured, her damp red-gold hair fanning out behind her against the green plaid pattern of his pillow._ _

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__So he read._ _

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__When he finished, he saw that Robin’s eyes had closed and her breathing was slow and even as she fell into a deep sleep. He leaned forward, gazing at her only for a moment before pulling back. He wanted to give some comforting gesture - pulling her hair off her face, or kissing her cheek, but he couldn’t risk her waking up and misinterpreting his gesture. For now, he sat back and continued to read. Before he knew it, the book fell to his chest and his eyes closed, a wave of exhaustion overtaking him as he too fell asleep.__

***

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Morning dawned bright and early and Cormoran awoke with a slight snort. It took a few moments for the fog of sleep to clear from his mind, and for him to realize where he was. He was in a bed. His bed. With Robin? _Robin._ She was fast asleep with her back toward him. He couldn’t recall when, but at some point in the night, he had climbed into bed with her. He hoped she hadn't remembered, or realized what had happened. At that moment, she shifted slightly away from him and he was thankful, as he was dealing with a particular _physical_ issue. He headed to the loo and stripped, reaching for a clean towel. As he did, he noticed Robin’s clothes hanging up on the towel rack, including her knickers.  


_Fuck._

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__Now his particular problem was made only slightly worse by the presence of women’s underthings in his bathroom._ _

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__As he sat on the closed toilet lid to remove his prosthesis, he groaned quietly at the relief that ridding himself of his false leg gave him. It was nearly an involuntary reaction at this point and he hoped that Robin wasn’t awake to hear it and get the wrong idea._ _

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__Once the water was warm, he carefully hopped over the ledge of the tub and grabbed onto the handlebar that had been installed long before he took over the flat. He was secretly grateful for it. As he lathered up and scrubbed, his mind fell back to Robin, so peaceful and soft-looking as she slept in his bed, wearing nothing, he now knew, but his dressing gown. He felt himself grow even harder at the thought and without realizing it, his hand reached down and grasped his cock, stroking himself two...three times before he growled and shook his head. He turned the water cold and doused himself in it, in an effort to rid himself of his erection._ _

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__As much as he wanted to, he also didn’t want to think of his partner in that way - a way that would be disrespectful not only to her, but also to himself. He especially didn’t want to feel the need to get himself off with her on the opposite side of the door, where she may wake up and hear him at any given moment._ _

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__Strike’s anatomy eventually relaxed, allowing him to finish washing himself and his hair, without the added difficulty. After cutting off the water, he hopped out of the shower and once again sat on the toilet, all while toweling himself dry. He replaced his clothes with clean boxer shorts, a white undershirt, and some socks. Unfortunately, in his hurry to get to the shower before Robin awoke and saw him in all his tented glory, Strike realized that he’d forgotten to grab his trousers. He sighed and peeked his head around the bathroom door. Robin had shifted in her sleep and now turned to face his direction. Her eyes were closed and she maintained the slow, rhythmic breathing that indicated that she was still asleep._ _

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__As quietly as he could, Strike hopped to his small dresser and took out a pair of dark-colored trousers before collapsing into the chair beside the bed. He was getting dressed quite literally right in front of his partner’s face. After attaching his prosthesis, he stood to pull his trousers up and fasten his belt just as Robin stirred beside him. Taking his first steps of the day on his false leg, he wandered to the small kitchenette and took it upon himself to procure two cups of tea for himself and Robin. After doctoring the tea to perfection, he was greeted by what might be the second most beautiful sight he’d seen in the past twenty-four hours. Robin sat on his bed, the tie of his gown now looser around her than it had been last night. He stealthily eyed the “V” shape against her chest, a perfect arrow of kissable skin that pointed downward. The gown had ridden up, revealing a significant expanse of her creamy thigh._ _

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__She didn’t seem to notice and stretched her arms above her head in an effort to release the cramps that tend to accompany a good sleep. The gown rode up even further and Strike took in a breath, not daring to look at her in this state. Her hair was mussed from sleep and was rather a mess all over her head, but Strke couldn’t bring himself to care. When her stretch subsided, she finally spoke._ _

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__“Morning. That for me?” She asked, gesturing to the quickly-cooling mugs of tea in his hands._ _

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__‘Yeh,” he responded quickly, stepping forward to bring it to her._ _

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__“Thank you for all this, Cormoran, really. I owe you one.”_ _

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__“Nonsense. It’s what friends are for, right?”_ _

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__She smiled at him. “Yeah, I suppose it is. But I still owe you.”_ _

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__He laughed and shook his head. “Now what?” He asked, cocking his head to one side in question._ _

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__“I suppose I'd better get going...long day ahead and lots to deal with.”_ _

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__“Yeah, of course,” he responded, swallowing the rest of his tea in one gulp. “I'm going to go get some work done. I'll leave you to it,” he gestured vaguely around the flat._ _

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__She nodded in understanding and watched as the door clicked shut behind him. She donned her clothes and blushed to herself at the realization that Strike had seen her underthings drying in the bathroom. He was a gentleman and would never acknowledge the fact, but deep down, they both knew it had happened. She tucked the thought away in the back of her mind. After all, she had bigger problems on her plate the moment. Robin sighed and put on her coat and scarf, and headed down the creaky wooden stairs to the main office._ _

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__Pushing the door open, she found Strike sitting in the outer portion of the office, using the computer at her desk._ _

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__“I'm off then,” she said, giving him a nod and a gentle wave from where she stood. She expected him to gesture in return, but instead, he rose to his feet and strode toward her._ _

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__Strike closed the space between them and she gazed up at him, watching his deep, dark eyes as they flicked downward, ever so quickly, to her lips._ _

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__“I…” they both started at the same time, then laughed softly at the awkwardness, yet unexpected familiarity of it all._ _

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__Silence took over once more and lingered between them. Strike moved closer and hesitated for a moment. Robin thought he was going to kiss her, but had thought better of it. Suddenly she longed to be in his arms, even if only for a moment._ _

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__Robin moved forward, reaching her arms around his inviting bulk and pulling him in. She took him by surprise, but it was only a moment before he felt her warmth against his chest and soaked her in. His arms naturally found their way around her. They fit together so well, her slender, small form in his own large and commanding one. It was but a second before their contact ended and he felt cold as she pulled away._ _

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__“Thank you again,” she murmured, attempting to regain her equilibrium after being embraced by Strike. She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear nervously._ _

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__“Anytime. If you need anything else, don't hesitate to call. You know where to find me,” he smiled knowingly._ _

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__“Yeah. I do,” she told him, smiling._ _

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__She turned to leave and Strike watched as Robin walked away, not turning back to look at him again. He was elated by the possibilities the future held, and simultaneously hollow, as if his heart had walked right out the door with the woman who claimed it._ _

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**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
